Empty Places
by EOlivet
Summary: I forgot something."


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize described herein belong to Hank Steinberg (one of two new members of the WaT closing credits!!!), Jerry Bruckheimer Television Productions (who stole their DP as well as their lights ;) and CBS (yay, CBS!!). No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
One line stolen from Ed Redlich (the other new member of the WaT closing credits!) or Harry Litman (who we've never heard from again ;). Title borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Well, nobody else was using it. :)  
  
Rating: TV PG for language. Jack and Samantha pairing.  
  
Timeline: Mid-The Bus.  
  
A/N: Many thanks to D and S -- for calming my nerves and suffering through even the unpublished stories -- and to MSt the smartest, most articulate forum with the best fans on the 'Net. And to my husband for listening to this even before it was typed.  
  
***  
  
Empty Places  
  
***  
  
The phone was the first thing she saw when she stepped into her apartment. It wasn't clear that it was a phone at first -- just one of many indistinct objects over-brightened by unfamiliar light. She couldn't remember the last time she'd come home to her apartment during the daylight hours.  
  
Once she'd closed her door and readjusted the thin blinds on the one window outside of her bedroom, the phone was the first thing that came back into focus.  
  
"Jack, I don't know what's happening to me."  
  
She hurried past the phone and into her blinding bedroom. After fixing the shade on that window, she changed her clothes, clenching them into a ball. Her hands were poised over the hamper, ready to rid herself of these last remnants of stability, but something halted her. The clothes might have to be examined for trace evidence, should charges be brought against her by someone who was actually sorry that those pieces of shit were gone.  
  
Sighing, she ran her hands over her face, trying to rub the flush of the kill from her cheeks. She changed quickly, gathering up her clothes in one arm and as she returned to her kitchen area to look for a bag, she again saw the phone.  
  
"I was so scared, Jack -- so scared."  
  
No -- she shook the idea from her head, stuffing the evidence away for safekeeping. Turning her back on the phone, she turned her attention to her small living area. Her living area -- it couldn't even be called a room -- where she barely lived. It looked abandoned -- like the rooms they would discover on cases. She could almost see herself cautiously walking into this room, surveying it with a critical, clinical eye...  
  
"Bare walls...no pictures...she didn't put much of herself into her home. It's like she never lived here. I'd say she was probably planning this for a long time..." And then she'd turn to--  
  
"I just wanted to make sure we were OK, Jack. That's all."  
  
She sank down into her sofa, flinching slightly at the pressure on her leg. There was a TV in front of her, but nothing to watch at this hour. Besides, she'd seen enough TV at the hospital. The only things on now were soap operas and talk shows. Well, she'd lived both today. It wasn't as if she'd learn anything new either. Just some woman telling some man...  
  
"Jack, I was just wondering how you were doing. I know this case must be hard on you."  
  
Glancing around the room, she shook her head.  
  
"I don't know, Sam. Maybe she was just lonely."  
  
Trapped in an empty apartment by a gunman who'd unknowingly brought her here and held her hostage to this day. The minute that gun went off all those months ago, those two men were dead.  
  
Now she needed to do something about it. Get there a fraction of a second earlier and knock the gun out of their hands so someone could knock it out of hers.  
  
Get up and rearrange her living area. Switch the sofa and chairs. Move the TV into the corner. Pull out some books from that small bookshelf and scatter them around the apartment.  
  
Then she'd move on to her kitchen. Buy some food for the refrigerator. Something that wasn't prepackaged, that she actually had to bake or fry. Unplug her microwave. Put something in the oven or on the stove. But first, she'd need to buy potholders.  
  
Knickknacks and hangings and photo frames on walls, on tables. Find some old high school or college graduation picture or maybe there was even one from Quantico...  
  
"This apartment is so full of life, Jack. Look at all the books and the pictures. All the food in the refrigerator. She obviously had a very full life and people who cared about her. I wonder why she'd just disappear."  
  
"I don't know, Sam. Maybe she was just lonely."  
  
Her eyes found the phone once more.  
  
"Jack, I was just calling about the case. I wanted to make sure those kids were OK."  
  
She had resolved to pick up the phone from her place on the sofa, but then stopped herself, gritting her teeth. Those damn phone logs. Calling from her home phone had no longer become an option.  
  
There was always her cell phone. That could easily be explained to anyone in the Bureau, even in OPR.  
  
"I was calling Agent Malone about an open case. I remembered something about the kidnappers and I--"  
  
They'd see through it somehow. It was too vague, too easy to verify, to contradict.  
  
"What specifically did you remember, Agent Spade?"  
  
Then what would she say? "I don't remember now" or...  
  
"You have no right to ask me that."  
  
No. Right.  
  
No home phone, no cell phone. The door closed behind her, locking out all temptation to use either of them before she hobbled down the stairs and out into the night. Her ambling grew more purposeful as she covered the block in long, unsteady strides, before turning onto the adjacent street and stopping around the corner at a pay phone. She couldn't be identified through a pay phone.  
  
Except if they found out where it was located. Her overextended mind wandered back to old cases, where the guys in A/V had traced the exact location of a pay phone. And since they had her address in the system, all they'd have to do was match the location...  
  
"Jack, I remembered something about the kidnappers and I--"  
  
Briefly, she closed her eyes. If the OPR would see through the lie, he'd see through it twice as quickly. And she didn't want to lie to him either. She just wanted...  
  
Without notice, her feet started heading toward the subway. It was the perfect solution, she convinced herself as she struggled down the steps. Nobody would ever know, she thought as she dug int her pocket for her Metrocard and limped down into the bowels of the station, forced to clutch the grimy metal railing just to keep her balance.  
  
By the time she'd boarded the subway and exited at the next stop, she was even more sure.  
  
Slowly climbing the steep steps out to the street, she found another pay phone about half a block away. Her hands shook as she located the change in her pocket, the clatter of coins ringing in her ears even before the phone did.  
  
"I think I forgot something there, Jack -- so I'm going to come by and get it."  
  
One ring...two...three...four...and his voice...  
  
...after five.  
  
Numbly, she placed the phone back before his voice could finish saying what was necessary. He wasn't there, he wasn't--  
  
--answering his phone. So his voicemail had picked up -- that didn't mean he wasn't still at the office. He could still be in an interrogation or talking to the victims' families or maybe he'd gone to get a quick bite to eat before settling into a long night of work. Yes, these all had to be possibilities.  
  
Steeling herself against the ache in her leg, she headed back toward the subway, stumbled back down the stairs, fished out her Metrocard one more time and boarded the train for one more stop away from her apartment.  
  
What would she say if he asked her why she'd come back? "I forgot something."  
  
That sounded good, she thought as she crossed the street.  
  
"I forgot something." It made sense, she decided, as she got into the elevator. "I forgot something."  
  
"...I forgot something, I remembered something, but I just wanted to make sure the kids were OK and that you were OK and that we were OK, because I'm so scared, Jack, and I don't know what's happening to me."  
  
The elevator doors opened and her leg seemed to forget it was supposed to be traumatized, for it felt like she was practically sprinting to his door.  
  
For a minute, she just stood there, not wanting to leave his doorway.  
  
"Jack?" she called so softly that only the emptiness would hear.  
  
She stayed a little longer, closing her eyes to keep a tenuous grip on her control. Nodding to the part of herself that knew this would happen, she quietly closed the door behind her.  
  
On her way out, she saw Martin, and he asked her what she was doing here.  
  
"I forgot something."  
  
The lie was so much easier to believe when it was true.  
  
The End. 


End file.
